


Crowley Drabbles

by AngeloftheOdd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabbles, Other, before we actually saw purgatory, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeloftheOdd/pseuds/AngeloftheOdd
Summary: Written during Season 6 originally. Short drabbles with some implied one sided Crowley/Bobby
Kudos: 1





	Crowley Drabbles

Crowley Drabble Collection (Supernatural)  
By AngeloftheOdd

I: BETTER TO REIGN IN HELL

Crowley had just come back from England when he first heard the news. That was the annoying thing about the way time in the underworlds ran in comparison to upstairs'. You'd step out for a brief business call and when you got back all hell was literally breaking loose. Admittedly it was a cheerier place than Britain in his humble opinion but that didn't mean he was incredibly happy to see that the Apocalypse had been inadvertently kick-started. Variety, after all, was the spice of life and, if truth be told, he rather liked people. His superiors couldn't fathom this aspect in a demon, so he managed to keep himself simultaneously both scarce and useful. Harvesting more souls for the upcoming war was a good line of work to be in at the present moment. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be offering any long-term investments. This did not sit well with Crowley.

The problem with Lucifer was that he had never been human to start with. Despite all the stories of his diabolical schemes and corrupting ways, his head was still very much in the clouds. He was just a spoiled brat who had been kicked out of the house and wanted to vent his rage on everyone and everything around him. Lilith, who Crowley had no choice but to respect, was far more familiar with the goings-on of Earth. She was certainly a lot more fun than Lucifer and a far better planner, but her type of parties often wrought unwanted attention from Heaven and hunters alike. The pair lacked subtlety.

The other high-ranking demons were no better. In fact, Crowley conceded, some of them were worse. Alistair, for example. Ah. Alistair. Now there was a piece of work. Gone right round the twist, even by demonic standards as far as this humble king of the crossroads was concerned. Some of Hell's newer denizens contemplated (though not often because it meant actually being in the presence of the creepy bastard) if he had truly come to Hell as a twisted soul or if he had been simply spawned from the pit itself. Crowley was never in doubt of this. Nothing in Heaven or Hell could be as slickly perverse, as creatively sadistic or as ruthlessly cruel as Alistair. That was a special type of sick fuckery that was reserved for humanity alone. Someone down here must have smiled when they had discovered him. Crowley was willing to bet several hundreds of someones smiled upon his earthly demise too. They had probably thrown a parade.

Crowley had read his bible like a good boy back in the day. He was pretty sure he was going to be buggered no matter what the outcome of the war. Demons were a disgusting, vile, untrustworthy lot of prats. He should know, he was one. He worked with them every single damned day. There were things living under rocks that had a keener intelligence and a longer attention span. There was no way Lucifer was going to keep them around if he was victorious and had the earth as his own personal toy box. And the angels, bloody zealots that they were, certainly wouldn't just sweep them under the rug as an inconvenience this time if they were the champions. They would scour and cleanse until nothing was left but the chosen pure. Or at least what passed for pure in their cold eyes. This simply would not do.

If you could get Crowley to admit his faults, his biggest would be his inability to pass up a good deal when he saw one. So when, oh bloody joy of joys, the actual Winchester Colt, had ended up in his possession, there was finally a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. If those two idiot brothers could be persuaded to plug Lucifer right between the eyes then that would be the end of it. No Apocalypse. No destined battle between adversaries. Just business as usual. He almost felt sorry for the devil and his cronies. Almost. Those who soared the highest often fell the hardest. Best to bide time and slowly crawl his way to the top of the dung-heap after the best and brightest were picked off one by one. When all was said and done, the place could benefit from some new management. Some fresh ideas. Maybe a new coat of paint while he was at it.

Better to reign in Hell indeed...

II. ABSINTHE WITH FAUST

Crowley's best (and currently only) suit was now tattered, torn, and sporting some very fetching bullet holes. He was tired, cranky and very much in need of a drink. Not the swill that his oh-so gracious host had nodded towards, but some nicely aged scotch. Craig for preference. He was hoping that, at the very least, he was managing to pull off looking like a devilish rogue in this wretched state, posh being out of the question. There was such a thing as keeping up appearances. Not that Mister Robert Singer, all surly growls and corn-pone country slang was aware of the notion. The man reeked of moonshine and cheap after-shave. And yet...and yet...Crowley had to admit that he was rather fond of Bobby, as he preferred to be called. Even if Bobby wasn't very fond of him. It was a nice change of pace to be dealing with someone who was honest for once. A completely tactless form of honesty to be sure, but there it was, nonetheless.

"What are you waiting for, the end of the God-dang world?" Bobby growled, sarcastically. "Get on with it already."

Ah. So impatient. So forceful. It was adorable really.

"These things take time, Bobby," Crowley replied. "I just want to be sure all the I's are dotted and all the T's are crossed."

"Uh huh. You better not be toying with me. Now hurry the hell up before I change my mind."

"Really, Bobby, you ought to learn to relax more. All this stress can't be good for your health."

Crowley casually side-stepped as an empty bottle of Jimmy Dean's finest whizzed passed his head. He reappeared behind Bobby with an exasperated and quite exaggerated sigh.

"Right then," he said. "Time to close this deal."

The look of pure loathing and disgust that registered on Bobby's face had been worth the pain of being shot full of rock salt. Watching the clients squirm was always the best part of the whole tiresome procedure of filling out contracts. It was so nice to know that he was probably the first to ever make Bobby look or feel this awkward and uncomfortable. In these sorts of situations sometimes people did the most unexpected and surprising things. Such as accidentally slide a bit of tongue into the obligatory kiss that sealed the deal.

Oh.

Crowley was suddenly so very tempted to lean back in for another but quickly thought better of it. He'd already pushed his luck with the camera phone. Instead, he wandered over to the ingredients Bobby had provided for the spell that would allow them to locate Death. Bobby was glaring at him as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. Crowley choked down the urge to lick his own lips. Right. The moment had passed. Time to get down to the serious business. That's why he was here after all. Well, that and the fact that the hunter had so many devil traps and other wards surrounding his land that no other demon would dare set foot within a hundred miles of the place. Bobby Singer had quite a reputation of his own. 

The demon's gaze wandered over to the shelves of old books. He hadn't expected Bobby to be the literary type. Okay, so most of them were full of information on how to smite Crowley's own kind but there were quite a few of the great classics there as well. Wasn't that just fascinating. A sharp poke to the ribs brought his attention back to the task at hand. Crowley smiled to himself. He was sure that Bobby could have managed a far harder jab than what he had done. It was positively friendly compared to his earlier attitude. Bobby lit the candles as Crowley began to recite the spell. There was a second or two where he feared it wasn't going to work but finally the map in front of him revealed the location they were searching for.

"Chicago?" Bobby asked. Never before had so much disbelief and mistrust been applied to a single word.

"As good a place as any, mate," Crowley answered. He was a little surprised himself. He had rather believed that it was going to start somewhere in England, but, hey, he had been wrong before.

Crowley lazily scanned the library before picking out an old novel and seating himself down on Bobby's threadbare sofa.

Bobby gave a small begrudging laugh as he caught sight of the title. Goethe's 'Faust'.

"You're a royal prick, Crowley."

"Flattery gets you everywhere, darling," the demon replied. "Now do get some sleep." He hesitated a moment before adding, "Unless of course you have other ideas in mind, which, it being possibly the end of the world and all no one would fault you for having..."

Well you couldn't blame a guy for trying. Apparently Bobby damn well could. Crowley managed to actually catch the heavy dictionary that was launched with incredibly accuracy at his nether regions. Fair enough, he thought. Perhaps Bobby might change his tune once he realized he wasn't paralyzed from the waist down anymore. He leaned back and began to read as Bobby poured himself another drink. Eventually there was the sound of loud, drunken snores. Crowley made a small noise of disapproval under his breath and found a blanket to cover the sleeping hunter with. It was always wise to protect your investments. He paused and then bent down to plant a kiss on Bobby's forehead.

Just for good luck.

III. CREATURES THAT KISSED IN COLD MIRRORS:

Crowley stepped lightly through the dense mist. Thick, coiling fog that permeated the entire area with a damp chill. It enveloped and muffled the sound his patent leather shoes made on the surface that passed for ground here. So. This was purgatory. Rather drab and colourless it was too. None of the trimmings of Heaven and none of the excitement of Hell. Crowley immediately decided that he liked it based on this fact alone.

There were vague shapes swirling through the atmosphere. Some drifted down, pooling around his ankles, twisting and writhing in smoky tendrils. An essence of sorts. Some lost soul. Most demons were evil, greedy and stupid because they had come from human stock. Whatever this was it had never been human to start off with. It gave the distinct impression of sorrow and anger. It had very likely been killed simply for the crime of existing.

"Well, well. What have we here?" he said with mock sweetness.

His hand reached down to caress, to comfort, to console. It was just like training a dog. Show it kindness so that it trusted only you. No sense in putting the fear of Hell into it. It didn't know what the word even meant. A glint of scales. A hiss of breath. Memories of sensual pleasures. Of blood. Of fire. Of claws and fang. Of course such a creature would be attracted to his presence. These things liked power. They practically fed on it.

"Fancy that," he said. It was more to himself than to the bundle of left-over emotions and longings that were all that remained of the spirit at his feet. "A lamia."

It responded by clawing at his leg. It wasn't a threatening gesture. It was trying to cling to him. Holding onto something physical in the ether. Oh yes, it had been a smart move coming here in corporeal form. Things down here were ravenous. He wondered if they fed on one another, only the strongest of wills managing to survive in some manner.

"Now, now, luv," he whispered. "Don't damage the threads. I've come to offer you a deal."

The smoke rose and he could feel something much like hot breath drifting across his face. Bless its little heart, it was trying to seduce him. It was almost cute in a pathetic sort of way. It was most unfortunate for the lamia that Crowley was pretty certain that their natural form was female and, that when it came to temptation, he was second only to Lucifer himself (what with Lilith out of the way now).

"You must have been down here a long time," he said. "Probably got sent here in the most unfair of circumstances too, I'll wager. Well, it's your lucky day. I can give you your revenge. All you have to do is give old Crowley a little kiss."

The sensation of sudden weight against him was overwhelming. Ah. Well that had been easy enough. He held a hand quickly up to his face before adding,

"And I advise you not to try anything funny such as sucking the soul out of my body. For one thing, I'm a gentleman and this is a first date sort of situation, yes? Second, I reckon it wouldn't taste too appetizing."

The air filled with melodious laughter. How jolly good. It found him amusing. No. It was more than that. It respected him. And respect, Crowley thought as invisible lips brushed against his own for a brief moment, was everything. Yes. Things were going to go his way very soon. And the sky, so to speak, was the limit.


End file.
